


what other amazements lie in the dark seed of the earth

by littleratboy



Series: soft spoken words for an irregular man [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleratboy/pseuds/littleratboy
Summary: James’ laughter was midday sun on your face through the parlor window.Spock imagined James' touch as a field caught ablaze.





	what other amazements lie in the dark seed of the earth

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from The Kitten by Mary Oliver.  
serious tw for internalized homophobia and self hate associated with sexuality

Sometimes, when he was alone, Spock thought about those leather riding gloves. 

He had fought this sort of thoughts since their first appearance, when he was fourteen, far from home at a school for boys. It hadn't taken more than a week after his first imaginings (soft lips on his, on his jaw, down his chest late at night) for him to decide that he’d fight against it at all costs. Spock would not let himself think these things, imagine that touch, fantasize about someone’s hands or the curve of their spine or the way they shook a head of curls as they laughed. 

It took one and a half months after meeting James for Spock to reconsider that decade-old decision. He sat on the edge of his bed, fists clenched in the sheets. It had been… a long time since he'd given in to this urge. 

Perhaps he’d forgotten how.

Spock laughed quietly, in the stifling still of his room, and pushed himself back, laying against his headboard. 

His right hand came up, fingers finding the spot that, only a few days ago, James’ riding gloves had brushed. His fingertips stilled, imagining with closed eyes, that James was here now. The hot skin against his cheek was James’, and when it slid slowly to his lips, that was James too. Spock opened his mouth for him, tongue sliding slowly out to meet the fingers.

His eyes snapped open. Burning with blush, Spock pushed off the bed and pulled on a housecoat. This was inappropriate, he needed a walk. 

.

As he laid in the bath, Spock stared at the wall opposite him. He thought about James’ hair, matted down with rain. What was it Spock had thought, on that dreary day of heavy rain? He’d wondered how James would look, fresh from the bath.

The bath was certainly big enough for two. 

So Spock imagined James here, kneeling in the water between Spock’s legs, propping them up, ankles over the edge of the bath, so that he could crawl closer. So that James could hover over him, water dripping from his water-dark hair onto Spock’s chest, his face. So that James could kiss, and touch. 

A hand slid under the water, down his chest, and wrapped around himself. Morning light filtered in through the curtains drawn over a high window. He watched dust float across the beams of light and pulled his hand slowly. 

On his last walk, James had stopped him and asked about the riding lessons. Spock hadn’t known it was a genuine offer. 

James had laughed, and it made Spock’s chest glow with warmth. 

This heat was nothing like James’ laughter. It scorched along his cheeks, and chest, and through his core. Spock had watched, as a child, a field of summerfollow burning. The fire seemed almost too slow to pose any real danger, but even as far as he was, the heat on his skin was blistering. Within minutes, that fire was twice as tall as him, and his father was grabbing Spock by the shoulders, pulling him away. 

James’ laughter was midday sun on your face through the parlor window. Spock imagined his touch as that blaze from his childhood.

His hand fell away and he reached for the plug, emptying the bath and standing, climbing out. Spock knew better, this was awful of him to do to himself. To James. 

.

It was earlier than Spock would like to wake, but his legs were twisted up in his sheet, and his dream still burned through his memory, hands on skin and lips meeting lips and an oppressive, encompassing heat that ached. 

Spock laid still, chest stuttering on a breath as a wave of need passed through him. There was no mistaking that figure in his dream, the soft lips and glittering eyes and strong hands that easily moved Spock. 

Slowly he extracted himself from the knot of limb and sheet. He quietly stared down at himself. 

Spock wondered how it might feel, actually. 

It wasn’t as though he knew. Spock hadn’t indulged himself since a shameful night, years ago, in a stifling academy dorm with one hand clasped over his mouth not to wake the other sleeping boys. He reasoned it must be quite different, now that his body has matured, grown into itself. Much different, if it was someone else’s hands. James’ hands. 

They hadn’t ever touched. Not skin to skin. Spock didn’t know if his fingers would be calloused, or soft, or if his palms would feel dry against sensitive skin. Spock held one of his own hands in front of his eyes. His fingers were marked with calluses from the harp. A scar, from a polecat’s bite as a child. His nails were short and well maintained. Spock wondered if any other man would ever see his hands this closely. 

Spock would like to see James’ hands.

Spock would like to see all of James. 

He would like James to see him like this, warm with sleep and close to tears and wanting. Hard. 

A hand laid over Spock’s length, he closed his eyes, and wished it wasn’t his. Not his body, not his hand, not his twisted desire that pulled an innocent man like James into this perverse fantasy. 

Spock clenched his teeth and rolled onto his side, letting his tears soak into the cool material of his pillow cover before they ran down his cheeks. He drew his hand once, slowly, over himself. It didn’t feel as bad as Spock knew it should. He flushed, but it wasn’t the burning hellfire it should’ve been. He was embarrassed, ashamed, but he could’ve purred, it felt so good. 

He didn’t stop himself again, not that morning. Spock’s hand was careful, and even, and Spock gasped a soft surprise when his hips first leapt to meet it. 

Spock did not stop himself. 

When Spock finished into his fist, he choked out a sob of shame. The light of a rising sun shone through the window onto his back, and Spock wept.

He wept for his dignity. For the knowledge that sank into his bones of his own perversion. Spock wept for a man. 

Hours later, after he’d washed and dressed and eaten three meals, Spock would go for his walk. His day had been filled with quiet nonsense, with his studies, and a conversation with his mother over tea, and the awful shame that had settled over him. Spock allowed himself onto James’ property, and asked for a riding lesson. 

When James helped him climb onto Enterprise’s saddle, he held Spock’s hand for the longest moment of Spock’s life.

**Author's Note:**

> i didnt intend to write a second part to this but weow!!! uhm im talaxian.tumblr.com and im still a soft man full of love.


End file.
